


Carry Your Throne

by KillTheDirector



Series: Alternative Universe - Gender Changes [5]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Female!Bard, Semi-Slow Burn, half-elvish Bardlings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-26 14:59:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3854971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KillTheDirector/pseuds/KillTheDirector
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon the shores of the Long Lake, there lived a girl who captured the heart of a king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meeting

When she was a young girl, Bard often dreamt of grander things. Her father (when he wasn't piss drunk, or especially when he was) would tell her to bring her head out of the clouds and realize what a disgrace their family's name was; how terrible a fate it was to be descended to the man who lost Dale. 

She remembers dreaming, especially after seeing the grandiose parade that had come after the Master had allied himself to the King of the Greenwood (though the locals shied away from the dangerous forest and called it Mirkwood out of ear shot). 

The procession was out of the fairy tales her father would slur sometimes; elves as beautiful as dreams and as cold as star light glided passed. 

Bard, a girl of twelve with wide eyes and still going by the name her mother had given her before her death, peeked around adults still taller than her; the party of the elf-king strode forward, soldiers on either side of the great king and someone who appeared to be his son. She gasped softly, staring like so many at the ageless beauty of the royal elves, wondering at the effortless way they moved. 

The Master was a poor sight in comparison (and, Bard admitted to herself, so was the entirety of Lake Town). She could see the sheen of sweat over his balding head from where she stood, and noticed with a snort the minute furrow of the elf-king's brow when the Master took his hand in greeting. 

Everything was going smoothly until a drunken voice began to yell through the crowd's noise. Bard felt her stomach drop when her father stumbled to the front, elven soldiers shifting to better protect their king.

"This is a farce!" Her father screamed, face splotch with anger and drink. "He'll drain you till there's nothing left, just as he's done us!" The crowd began to murmur, knowing what he said was true but also rememberin the wrath of the Master; they began to shove her father, laughing when he stumbled. The elves glanced to one another, their shoulders held taunt. 

Bard shoved her way to the front, "Stop! Leave him alone!" The crowd surged till she fell to her knees, her hands stinging as they scraped against the well worn wood of the dock. Her father looked at her through his stingy brown hair, eyes misted with unshed tears. 

"You know his man, child?" She froze at the commanding voice, looking up from her kneeled position. The elven soldiers had parted, leaving only their king to tower over her and her father. Eyes that held centuries in their ice blue depths locked with her own, and a curious expression played over an ageless face. 

The Master could be heard blustering, moving to stand beside the elf-king, huffing with the effort. "My lord, pay no attention to this rabble, they are nothing but disturbers of the peace--"

"I was speaking to the girl." The king's voice was like a whip crack, though it never rose in volume. 

Her father was staring at her, his expression sobering bough he still reeked of ale. Bard held the elf-king's gaze, moving to stand though he still towered over her like a great tree. "H-he's my father." She rasped, trying to square her shoulders under the force of his gaze. 

He inclined his head, the corners of his mouth twitching with either the want to smile or frown. "I see," he said softly enough to give the impression of them speaking alone. "Take him home, child, and care for him."

Bard nodded once, helping her father to stand on unsteady feet. "Thank you." She said quietly, looking at the king from under her lashes. 

At this he did smile, though it was small and meant only to last for a second. "What is your name so that I may know someone who will not cheat me, as your father says the Master of Lake Town will?" 

She considered telling the elf-king her birth name, but she remembered the scorn the townspeople gave her for having the gall to be related to the failed king of Dale. "My name is Bard."


	2. Five Years Later

The brush of the air skirting across the half frozen lake causes goose flesh to pop over Bard's arms as she moves the rope attached to the mast. She smiles softly, the silence of the early morning combined with the dull heat of the early spring sun leaving her with a sense of serenity; the boat creaks lowly and slides effortlessly through the large chunks of ice. 

Bard moves from tying the rope into place, moving to stand at the wheel as she takes in the surrounding forest; her heart picks up tempo, grin widening as the thought of dry land and actual meat dances through her head; the boat moves with a low groan as Bard turns toward the elven dock normally set up for the trading barge. 

"Let me have some luck today. " Bard breathes as she hops out of the boat, quickly securing it to the dock with a few well placed knots. Her spirits are high as she grabs her bow, feet welcoming the unmoving land; Mirkwood towers overhead, the shadowy trees curling like gnarly hands beckoning her closer. Bard allows herself to stare, still unnerved by the wood even after five years of visiting. 

"This is an odd sight." The sudden voice causes her to let out a surprised shout, hand going for the small knife strapped to her belt. She turns and is met with the smiling face of an old man who is resting on a near by log. He stares at her from behind a cloud of smoke, the brim of his grey hat pulled low enough that Bard is unable to make out his eye color. 

"What...what are you talking about, old man?" She hates that her voice quivers, but her hand loosens a fraction around her knife. The old man laughs softly, tapping out his pipe and sliding it back somewhere in his dark grey robes. 

"I said that it is an odd sight." At Bard's still confused look, the old man dips his head in a slight bow. "It's strange seeing a Man from Laketown so deep in the Greenwood, especially a woman."

The old man seems harmless enough, but Bard continues to keep her knife clenched in her hand. She gives the man a wary look, unsure whether or not she should move closer, as--like the old man--she has never seen another being in Mirkwood before. "But you're here." She says, raising a brow in question. "Clearly you know something of Mirkwood and its king if you find it so odd seeing another Man here." 

The old man laughs again, though it is louder and seems to be more genuine. "I do know some things..." He eyes her for a moment, and Bard has the feeling that she is being assessed rather throughly; she bristles slightly at the thought of the old man robbing her, but knows that other than her father's boat, she had nothing of value. "You are hunting in the wood." It isn't a question, and the old man sounds more amused at the thought than concerned. 

Bard shifts the weight of her bow from one shoulder to the other; though the old man knows something, obviously his disconcern with her hunting on the elven king's lands meant he wasn't as well versed as she thought. "Aye, and I really must go before it gets too late." She eyes the old man for a few seconds; he gives her a once over before nodding to himself. 

"Before you go, might I have a name?" Bard frowns, glancing toward her boat and wondering how quickly she could flee. 

"I'm called Bard." 

"Your given name?" Silence follows as Bard stares at the old man in confusion and shock; how had he known? His Westron wasn't accented, but she knew he wasn't from Laketown, so he couldn't have any idea of her true name. 

Biting the inside of her cheek, Bard glares at the old man. "Bathilda, daughter of Bevis." Her true name feels like bit coals in her mouth, and her father' s even more so. The old man looks pleased, his gnarled hands tightening around his walking staff. Bard wants to run, wondering if the old man knows of her family's past and wishes to right some imagined wrong from Girion's time. 

"As I thought." He says to himself, nodding as if he is pleased. Bard opens her mouth to question, but the old man inclines his head and turns to leave. "You are being watched in these woods, Bard of Laketown--Bathilda of Dale; I would advise you to stay away." He has reached the trees disappeared before his words catch up to Bard. 

"Wait!" She cries, scurrying to reach the old man, "How did you--" She stumbles into the shadow of the trees, confused as she stares into the forest where the old man has completely disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Bathilda: Saint Bathilda was a woman warrior who became queen of the Franks; since this is a fem!Bard fic, I thought the name fit  
> **Bevis: bowman


	3. Dangerous Waters

After the run in with the old man, Bard had decided to forgo traversing in the wood; her stomach rumbled at the lack of meat that didn't have mould growing on it, but she stared ahead, fingers clenching on the wheel as her boat moved toward the outpost. 

"Hail!" The outpost guard raised his hand, shielding his eyes from the sun that was starting to rise over the lake. "Bard, didn't think I'd see ye back so early." He gave her a gap toothed smile, eyes crinkling at the corners under his bushy eyebrows. 

Bard made a face, stepping onto the rickidy dock in order to pay her way through. "The weather felt as if it would turn," she lied, rifling through her coin punch for a bit of copper. "I didn't want to be caught in Mirkwood if that happened." She had no desire to repeat her meeting with the strange old man to anyone, a sense of uneasiness at the thought of doing so made her hold her tongue. 

The guard lifted his gaze to the cloudless sky, mouth pursed in confusion before he released an amused chuckle. "Aye, you're right about tha'." Bard placed the two copper piece in his weather worn hand, giving him a small nod before scurrying back onto her boat. 

The boat sailed smoothly through the waterways of Laketown; few people called out a greeting to her, going about their business in order to survive the coming spring. Bard docked, gathering her unused supplies with a small frown; she glowered at the dirty water of the lake, annoyed that she had allowed some old traveler to deter her from getting food. 

"Back so soon, Bard?" Her frown grew to a grimace as the oilly voice slide out from behind her; straightening her back, Bard turned, plastering a pleasent smile on her face. 

"Alfrid, I'm surprised to see you up and about so early." The young man--a boy really, he was only fourteen, but nearly as slimey as the Master--gave her a small frown, clearly put off by her cheery facade. 

"Upholding the law doesn't allow one to sleep in," clearly he was quoting his mentor. "Though I suppose breaking the law also doesn't allow one to sleep in either." He eyed her bow, thin hands wringing together either in glee or nervousness. Bard watched the way Alfrid's eyes darted from her face to her chest, a fact that made her fake smile crack at the edges. 

"I have to eat, Alfrid." She said, wanting to push him out of the way to go back home. 

"Hunting in Mirkwood is against the law, as stated by the Master when he and the elven king allied." A smug smile appeared over his thin mouth. "I'm sure you could find...other ways to earn a meal; the Master has offered you a place in his home, after all." Again his eyes darted over her body, his hands tightening around each other. 

Bard stared at him, disgust washing over her like a wet blanket; she stepped closer to him, her smile strained as she cocked her head in a gesture of faked innocence. Trailing a hand up his arm, something that caused his eyes to widen in surprise and his face to flush (Bard wanted to scoff at that and his attempted haughty masculinity), she leaned in close. "I would rather face Smaug's fire than play whore to the Master." 

Quickly she shoved him over the side of the dock; the boy released a loud shriek, sounding more like a drowned cat than a human. Rising from the dirty water, Alfrid wiped droplets from his eyes, baring his teeth as he attempted to climb back onto the dock only to slip again. "The Master w-will hear about this, Bard! You assaulted an upholder of the peace!" 

Bard snorted and turned from the specticle that Alfrid was making (others began to stop and stare, some hiding their laughter behind their hands). "I don't doubt I'll be hearing about this." She called over her shoulder, "In fact I'll be waiting!" She smiled when she heard the boy shriek again along with the sound of splashing water.


	4. Into the Trees With Empty Hands (Interlude)

He is sitting alone in his throne room, eyes half-lidded as he feels the small feet of hundreds of animals shoot across his skin as they seek shelter in the trees and in their dens. 

His head is lulled back, resting against the worn wood of the great throne and a glass of wine half drank is held loosely in his hand; he can feel the animalistic worry of the forest creatures as they sense the coming storm looming on the distant horizon. 

Briefly there is the flash of long black hair and wide grey eyes that flickers past his eyelids, and he wants to chase that vision and understand why the child (though, his mind supplies silently, Men age so much more quickly than Elves) keeps returning to the Greenwood. 

As suddenly as it appears, his mind is instantly quieted; Thranduil frowns, eyes fluttering open first in confusion and then in annoyance. He rights himself in his throne, setting the half-full wine glass aside; there is only one other being beside himself that can quiet the whispers of the Greenwood. 

Thranduil waits and soon enough there is the sound of frantic footfalls; a young guard opens the large doors without ceremony, breath causing her dark red hair to fan about her face. "My king, we have a visitor who wishes to speak with you." She looks panicked, and briefly Thranduil wonders what Mithrandir had told the gate guards in order to make Tauriel so flustered. 

"Send them in." He inclines his head, mask of indifference placed over his features though inside he is wondering what this visit is about; surely the wanderer wouldn't call upon him just to speak, the old man knows of how the elven king enjoys his solitude. 

Not a minute goes by until there is the sound of shuffling and the light thwack of a walking stick making contact with the wooden walkways; Mithrandir appears from behind the doors, unassuming as most wizards are wont to be. Thranduil stands, gliding towards his guest with a small smile and open arms. "It has been far too long since you have...graced the Greenwood with your presence, Mithrandir." 

The wizard huffs out a laugh, bowing his head before allowing himself to be steered by the elf towards a long table. Thranduil sends for food, grabbing his forgotten wine and offering the old man a glass. 

"I'm afraid I won't be visiting for long, my friend." A plate of grapes and cheeses are set before the wanderer; Thranduil frowns as he sits before the wizard. 

"Then why come all this way at all?" He isn't in the mood for playing Mithrandir's games; his head pounds already with the silence, and wonders if the wizard is causing him pain on purpose. 

A pipe is lit, and the old man takes a long pull; blue eyes cut through the smoke, scanning the elven king's face for a moment before a breath is released. "I stopped a woman from Laketown from crossing your borders today." He doesn't sound accusatory, merely curious as to why Thranduil allowed someone from Esgaroth to cross into the Greenwood. 

Thranduil pauses in lifting a grape to his mouth, resuming after a second of hesitation. "I already knew of her presence; she isn't a threat, therefore of no importance to me." He states, chewing slowly and allowing the flavor to settle on his tongue. Mithrandir casts him an amused look, smoke curling around his wrinkled face as he settles back into his chair. 

"She is descended from Girion." The old man studies the lines of Thranduil's face, seeing the minute widening of the elf-king's eyes before even that expression is smothered. 

He fights not to remember the flash of a smile, grey eyes shining from dim candle-light, the feeling of dread when he heard the low beat of wings on the wind. "Why would that interest me?" Then he thinks of the girl, how similar she looked to Girion; the brief feeling of her slipping into a river she had found on one of her ventures, skin hot in the water as if it were touching his own. 

Mithrandir smiles into his glass, sipping slowly and humming softly as he takes another drag on his pipe. "...I suppose we'll see."


	5. I'm So Scared Of What Will Kill Me In The End

Days pass without the repercussions from the Master she expected; Bard slunk along the docks, avoiding eye contact with those she knew to be under his thumb, on edge and waiting for the vile man's next move. 

She was sure it would come, one didn't just deny the Master of what he wanted after all. 

Bard slipped into the Shining Trout, nodding in greeting at the bar-maid as she hopped onto one of the creaky wooden stools. Friga gave her a sunny smile, setting ale on the counter before going off to serve a group of fishermen just returned from the lake. 

Sipping at her ale quietly, Bard released a long sigh; a hand clasped on her shoulder, causing her to squawk in surprise, hand reaching for the knife she knew not to be there. A loud laugh made a frown cross over the woman's face, and she threw a solid punch against her 'attacker's' shoulder, glad at the way a wince moved over his handsome face. 

"Come now, Bard, you're as jumpy as a mouse!" Siegfried gave her a crooked grin, waving for Friga to give him an ale as he settled onto the bar-stool beside her. Bard snorted loudly, turning away from the bargeman's son with an annoyed dip to her mouth. 

"I'm not jumpy." She grumbled, shoulders tensing when she heard a group of men stumble into the tavern. 

"No, not at all." The man shook his head. "If the Master was going to retaliate, don't you think he would have by now?" 

Bard released a long sigh, sitting up straighter with a quiet groan. "I know, I know...it's just that I'm tired of _waiting_."

Siegfried patted her on the shoulder, offering her a small smile. "Things will work themselves out, my friend. You've been marooned in this god-forsaken town for too long," He laughed at the look she shot him. "Normally you don't rest for a moment during the summer, always running off to Mirkwood. What, do you have some sort of secret elvish lover or something?" 

The question shocked a laugh out of her, and the sunny grin Siegfried gave her pulled Bard from the nervous malaise the past few days had put her in. They began talking, and Bard resolved to go back into the forest, the Master be damned.


	6. Second Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is waaaaay overdue. I'm finishing up my last year of college, so I've been pretty busy (and starting new stories hasn't helped).   
> Hopefully you guys'll bare with me on the slow update schedule.

When she docked just outside of Mirkwood, Bard was thankful there were no elderly travelers to halt her exertion into the forest. 

It had rained a few days previously, so the smell of mud and the heady scent of rotting leaves was present as she stepped silently beyond the tree line. The skin on Bard's arms prickled into goosebumps, and she tried not to think of the old man's warning that she was being watched. 

The rumors that surrounded Mirkwood, and specifically the woodland king who ruled over the forest said that he was able to sense whenever someone crossed over his borders. Bard had always wondered if the rumor was true, and as she glanced over her shoulder for what seemed like the tenth time after feeling eyes tracing her every step, the thought came to her again.

"I'm being ridiculous." She murmured to herself, tugging at the strap of her quiver. The walk to her favorite clearing was long, and the further Bard traveled into the forest, the more she was able to ignore the feeling of eyes on her skin.

A grateful sigh left Bard's mouth when she came upon he clearing. A crystalline stream that held the tiniest silver fish cut through the grassy medow, and the trees that lined the outline of the clearing weren't as menacing as the others of the forest.

Bard set her pack and her quiver on the ground. She turned her face toward the sun, allowing the sweat on her brow to cool as she allowed herself to relax for what was the first time in days.

She walked over to the stream and cupped her hands in order to get a drink from the clear waters. Paying mind not to allow any of the little fish in her hands, Bard took a long drink, another sigh falling out of her mouth after she was finished.

The feeling of being watched was gone, something for which Bard was grateful for. She gathered her bow and a handful of arrows; digging through her pack, Bard hummed in happiness when she found the small wooden target Siegfried had made for her when they were children and she had expressed a desire to learn archery.

The continuous pull and release motion lulled Bard into a half dazed state. The arrows hit the target with a low thwack that cut through the forest's eerie silence; she stepped back, adjusted her grip on the long bow, and watched as the arrow flew true to the center of the target. "You're very good," A voice sighed through the trees until it settled right behind her. It had a soft teasing edge to it, something that was easily missed. "For a Man, anyway." 

Bard spun around, her heart nearly stopping in her chest when her eyes landed on the elven King standing not a yard away. His hands were held behind his back, and he gazed at the target with a small barely there smile flirting with the corner of his mouth.

Bard's hands began to shake when the king leveled his eyes upon her, the blue cutting through her like a blade. She swallowed thickly and took a step back. "Are...are you going to kill me?"

The elf-King rose a dark brow and cocked his head in confusion. "Why would I do something like that?" He seemed offended, and the minute pursing of his lips was almost as if he were pouring. Bard choked back a snort of amusement, her heart calming its rapid beating if only slightly.

"I'm trespassing?" She wanted to look anywhere but the king's eyes, but found that she couldn't look away. He snorted softly, the action so...common that it shocked a soft laugh from Bard. The elf-King narrowed his eyes, but seemed to take no offense at her laughter.

"If I had wanted you dead, I wouldn't have come personally to do it." He said, amusement lightly coloring his words. Bard wondered if he was insulting her. "Who are you?"

Bard chewed on the inside of her cheek and watched as the elf-King strode serenely to sit upon a large rock positioned on the edge of the stream as if it were a throne. She huffed softly and felt extremely clumsy in the light of his seemingly effortless movements. "I'm called Bard." She mumbled, turning to fetch the arrow that was still burrowed in the target. She heard the elf hum quietly behind her, and she wondered if he would remember their first meeting. Surely not.

"Bard," he said, voice far away, "The drunken fisherman's daughter." Bard pursed her lips, glowering at the target with her hand wrapped securely around the shaft of the arrow. "Your father, how is he?"

The elf-king's tone was polite and lightly curious. Bard wrenched the arrow from the target, not meeting the elf's eyes as she began to pack up her things. "He's dead." She shoved the target into her pack with little more force than necessary. "Drowned a few years back."

The loss of her father hadn't been a particularly hard one; Siegfried' family had helped through the leaner years, and Bard had learnt how to fend for herself. "I apologize." Bard looked up at the woodland King who wore what could genuinely be a mod cup expression.

Bard flushed and looked back down at her pack. The beauty of elves, no matter what gender, was always talked about and the woodland king's was no doubt one of the greatest. "Don't be, it wasn't your fault." She stood, shouldering her bag and wondering what to do next.

The elf-King eyed her for a moment, gaze tracing every inch of her face until she could nearly feel it the stare like a physical touch. Bard shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable in her skin. "It's uncanny how much you two look alike." The elf murmured softly, standing with the fluidity of water and striding in front of her. 

He laid his hands on top of Bard's shoulders before she knew what was happening. His hands were large, the tips of his long fingers skimming over her prominent shoulder blades while he gazed into her eyes. "I have a feeling that this will not be the last we meet, Bard."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot happens in this chapter, but finally there's a second meeting between Bard and Thranduil. Hopefully there will be an update much sooner than this one; thanks for reading!


	7. The Cold of the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Minor to semi-severe violence, threats of rape, period-typical sexism, period-typical punishments

Days later, a group of the Master's men surrounded Bard as she was attempting to purchase dinner from one of the seasonal vendors. 

The vendor looked scared and shocked, shoving the fruits she had been attempting to buy toward her and glancing at the heavily armed men. Bard swallowed thickly and then released a loud squawk of protest when one of their iron-like hands wrapped around the top of her arm. "Bard," The guard holding her said, reciting her sentence loud enough so that the people walking through the make-shift market would hear. "You are under arrest for trespassing into the Elven-King's lands which, as stated in the alliance with the Master of Laketown and King Thranduil himself, is strictly forbidden."

Bard tried to pull out of the man's grasp in order to make a break for it, but his grip was strong and she was soon pulled away from the market place. The group of men crowded around her, leaving her with no opening in which to try to escape. She hung her head, allowing her worn boots to scrape over the dirty wooden dock. A quiet fell over the villagers they passed, and Bard wondered if they thought it just that she finally be punished. 

She was shoved into the Master's hall without ceremony; her knees scraped against the hall's wooden boards while she was shoved into a forceful bow. Bard gritted her teeth, her fingers tightening into fists when she heard Alfrid scurrying from behind her, the boy snickering quietly to himself. "Guess you couldn't run forever." He whispered under his breath, the toes of his dirty shoes the only thing visible to her due to the guard's hand still pushing her head down.

"Ah, so good of you to join us." Bard's mouth worked into a scowl at the sound of the Master's slimy voice. Finally she was allowed to lift her head; once her gaze landed upon the Master's fat face, she fixed him with a glare that could have curdled milk. He offered her a yellowed and chipped smile; she noted that in one hand he held two goblets, while in the other it had a decanter of red wine.

She had a sickening feeling pooling low in her stomach that her 'trespassing' was not what brought her here. "I had no choice in the matter. I _was_ just arrested." Bard hissed, watching with narrowed eyes as the Master poured a generous amount of wine in each cup. Alfrid was off in the corner staring at her with dark eyes, his nervous hands twitching like birds around one another.

"Yes, well these things _do_ happen when one decides to break the law." The Master looked down his nose at her, his beady eyes tracing her face and neck and eyed the swell of her breasts that was visible from the hanging collar of her shirt. "Of course, there _are_ ways for this transgression to...disappear." He offered her a goblet of ruby wine, the smell pungent and heady. Bard's mouth watered from the scent, the temptation to just give into the disgusting man before her in order for there never to be need of venturing out into the wood to eat decently.

Bard took in a deep breath, and remembered the winter blue of the elf-king's eyes, the heat of his hands resting upon her shoulders. _I have a feeling this will not be the last we meet, Bard._ She lifted a hand and slapped the goblet away, the finely made metal clanging loudly throughout the hall; wine spilled everywhere, and Bard noted with some satisfaction, upon the Master's garish yellow tights. She glowered up into his eyes, her hands shaking with both fear and anger as guards began to circle her like vultures. "I would rather _die_." She ground out, uncaring if her words would be heeded or not.

A sharp crack reverberated through the room, a lightening pain shooting across her face as Bard tumbled to the ground. The Master's cheeks were splotched red with anger and humiliation; she wiped away the blood that began to pool from her mouth, her tooth having caught the inside of her cheek from the strike. "Stupid wench." The Master spit, the force of his rage causing the fat of his neck to quake. Bard spat blood onto the ground and attempted to stand only for the action to be halted by strong arms forcing her down. She glanced at Alfrid who watched the scene with wide eyes; his face was pale, and his hands had ceased shaking. She wondered if he was gaining any sort of enjoyment from this, or if he was horrified at the show of violence from the normally bumbling Master.

Thick fingers decorated by gaudy rings wound themselves through her hair, wrenching her head up. She bared her bloody teeth at the man, wanting to lash out even more. "I should allow these men to fuck you," The Master hissed, low enough so only she would hear. "That would be a punishment fitting your constant refusals of me."

Bard swallowed thickly, the fear that perhaps the Master would follow through with his threat solidifying as he glowered down at her. She considered her options, wondering if there was a way she could escape the threat hanging over her head like a sword. "Though my family is disgraced," she croaked, trying to reach within herself to find whatever strands of queenly strength that may have been passed down. "The name of Girion will still draw allies. How will your rule over Laketown appear if you allow the last living descendant of the Lord of Dale to be violated on your orders?"

Bard prayed softly to the gods that her attempt at manipulation worked. She watched the Master's eyes widen with fear. He pulled away from her with a snarl, the girth of his stomach jiggling with the movement. "Take her to the stocks." He glowered at her for a moment and turned away. "And have one of the maids clean this mess up."

Bard sagged momentarily with relief, but it was short lived when she was tugged away and dragged to the town square. More people were out now, and when they saw Bard being pulled toward the oak stocks, they began to whisper loudly. 

"This is ridiculous." She heard one man grumble to his wife as the guards shoved Bard to rest her head in the roughly carved grooves. The man's wife hurriedly quieted him, and when the other board came down and was locked into place, Bard allowed her head to hang. 

"Be thankful the Master didn't make good on his threat, bitch." The guard that had been holding her through her confrontation with the Master gripped her face with a heavily calloused hand. He grinned a yellow toothed smile at her, his dark green eyes tracing over her face lecherously. "I would have made you _scream_." He pulled away his hand when she attempted to bite it, glaring angrily as he walked away with a hacking laugh.

Hours later, the sun was hot over head and Bard felt the sweat drip from her brow. Her mouth was completely dry, and her bladder ached with the need to release. She didn't bother calling out to anyone, knowing that they would ignore her or face the same fate. Bard swallowed and allowed her head to hang, wondering how long she was to be held in the stocks. Days? Weeks? She smirked to herself when she remembered the look on the Master's face when she refused him. _Serves the pig right._ She thought with a soft breath of laughter.

"Bard?" Bard's head snapped up at the sound of Siegfried's voice, laced with surprise. The bargeman's son galloped toward her, his dark blonde hair whipping behind him and his dark brown eyes wide with fear. She tried to speak, but found that her voice wouldn't work and instead settled on a grimace that could pass as a smile. Siegfried knelt in front of her, still smelling of the lake and the wind; he patted her face, smoothed her hair back from her head and inspected to make sure there was no damage. "What happened? Did he do anything to you?"

"Water." She ground out, sticky tongue sweeping out in an attempt to moisten her lips. Siegfried complied immediately and lifted his water skin to her mouth; Bard sighed after she had her fill of water. He fretted over her, demanding to know what had happened and he tried to get anyone who passed by to tell him if Bard was alright. "Sig, please stop. 'm _fine_ , just need to piss." Her crassness startled a laugh from her oldest friend, but he quickly smothered it with a deep frown.

"I'm going to get my father," Siegfried stood after giving her more to drink. "We'll get this... _mess_ sorted. I'll be back shortly, my friend." He smoothed her hair back from her face and pressed a light kiss to her forehead. Bard watched him run off to get his father, sighing softly when the crowd parted for the bargeman's son.

She looked down at the wooden dock with a light scowl twisting her lips. Frix the bargeman was well respected in Laketown and held much sway among the people; he and his wife had taken in Bard for a time after her father had drowned in the lake, and she knew, hoped she would eventually marry Siegfried. Bard hoped that Frix would be able to convince the Master to set her free; she didn't want to piss her pants or be subjected to the staring of the town's folk anymore. _I just wanted to be free of this damnable place._ She thought morosely, allowing the self-pity to wash over her for a moment before sobering. 

It was the middle of the night when a mob of people wake Bard from the half-dazed slumber. There were rough hands one her arms and the sound of the stock being opened; she tried to tug away from the hands gripping her tight, panicking that the Master ordered the guard from before to come back and have his way with her. The sound of Frix's voice pulled her out of her panicked thrashing. "Bard, darling, you're alright, enough." Bard blinked dazedly at the old man, his face cut in sharp relief by the yellow torches.

She finally pulled out of the guard's grasp (thankfully, not the one from before; this one appeared to be a squire), and threw herself at the bargeman; she wrapped her arms around his round middle and tried not to sob. "Thank you." She whispered over and over. Frix motioned with a hand for the squire to leave, and he did after a moment of hesitation. 

Frix pulled her away from him with a little effort and wiped a tear from her cheek. "Let's go back to the house and Sophia'll get you something to eat, aye?" Bard was too tired to argue that she didn't want to be a burden, and let the old man lead her toward his home.

He waited for her to use the bathroom before she was pushed toward the warmly lit house and instantly gathered in the bargeman's wife's thick arms. Sophia released her and looked at her with wide brown eyes. The woman shook her head, her grey-streaked blonde hair bouncing with the motion. "You foolish girl," The woman admonished, tutting loudly before she gathered Bard in her arms again. "You know what that terrible man wants from you, yet you purposefully put yourself in danger! In the Mirkwood, nonetheless!" Bard rested her head against Sophia's soft shoulder, letting herself be fretted over.

Siegfried appeared from the kitchen, laughing quietly when he saw Bard squashed against his mother's chest. "Mam, let her breathe." Sophia hushed him loudly, and then unwound her warms from Bard's skinny waist in order to toddle off to get her food. Frix had retired to his chair and had out his pipe; he watched Bard through the smoke with a lightly calculating look in his eyes. Sophia pulled Bard to a chair with a plate piled with food laid in front of her, not allowing Bard to leave the table till it was all cleared away.

Siegfried didn't attempt to pry what had happened from her till they were sitting on the dock alone. Smoke curled up over their heads, and the stars were bright against the inky backdrop of the sky; he tapped the pipe on the bottom of his boot, and Bard let out a long sigh. "You're wanting to ask," She said lowly, shoving his shoulder. "Come out an' ask."

"What happened, Bard?" Siegfried sighed, his dark eyebrows furrowed in the middle and a frown tugged at the corner of his mouth. Bard snatched the pipe from his hand and lit it, smoking silently while she sorted her thoughts.

"The Master arrested me for trespassing on the Elf-King's lands...and then he wanted me to play his whore." She let the smoke tumble from her nose, her eyes half closed. "I refused, an' he told me that he was going to let his guards rape me." Siegfried let out an indignant cry, moving to stand until Bard pulled him down by his shirt sleeve. She glared at him, the pipe stem clenched in her teeth. "Nothing happened. What were you going to do? Storm the Master's hall yourself?"

Siegfried glowered and then grabbed a stone from the dock to throw out on the lake. "I could tell my father, we could do something."

"Nothing happened--"

"It doesn't make it right!" The bargeman's son looked at her with a worried expression. "The Master relentlessly pursues you, and then he--" He glared down at his hands, and tightened them into fists. "What if it happens again, and I'm unable to help you?"

Bard laughed and placed a hand over his. "You are a good friend, Sig. You're the one more deserving of the title of 'Last living descendant of Girion' than I am." Siegfried snorted, and began to say something before the light from the house cut through the dark of the night when Frix opened the door.

The old man glanced between the two of them, a bushy eyebrow risen in question; Bard pretended not to notice the way Siegfried flushed, and the way he stumbled to untangle their hands. "Bard, a word?" Frix tilted his head to come inside, stepping away to allow them the semblance of privacy.

Bard stood, her eyes cast downward; guilt ate away at her, because she knew that she would never be able to love the bargeman's son the way it seemed he did her. "I need to see what your father wants." She said quietly, and stepped away before he could say anymore.

Sophia smiled softly at her when Bard entered the house, nodding toward the front room where Frix was waiting at the table. He smoked his pipe thoughtfully after she sat down, his brown eyes far off as he thought. Bard didn't know whether she needed to alert him to her presence when he began to talk. "You know your way around the Mirkwood." It wasn't a question, but Bard nodded anyway. Frix leveled his gaze upon her, tapped his pipe against the small bowl used to catch ash and blew out a cloud of smoke. "I'm offering you a job, Bard. Work with me an' my boy on the barge. You'll be able to wander while we're waiting for our shipments...under the guise of legality, o' course." His eyes sparkled with mirth at the last part, and Bard felt her own eyes widen.

"R-really? But what about the Master...surely you won't be able to convince him to let me leave Laketown?" Frix snorted, and Bard could hear Sophia pause in washing up in order to listen.

"That fat buffoon'll listen to me, bowman," Bard smiled a little at the nickname Frix had given to her when she had first started practicing with the longbow. "All I need is you to promise me one thing." His gaze was steady, and his words serious. Bard nodded, her heart pounding in excitement at the possibility of not having to sneak about to go on the mainland, to earn a wage in order to support herself. Frix set his pipe down. "You won't go looking for trouble in that cursed wood or anywhere else. You're far too important to recklessly put yourself in danger."

Bard's brows furrowed in confusion for a moment, but she nodded slowly. "Of...of course, Frix."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of Barduil in this fic, it _will_ happen, though...eventually.
> 
> If it's not too obvious, Siegfried is Bard's eventual husband and whom Sigrid is named after.


End file.
